


Haven't Met a Gent so Magnificent or Elegant

by anger_ieJ9



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Minor Steve Rogers/oc, Multi, Steve Rogers-centric, minor Steve Rogers/Clint Barton - Freeform, minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anger_ieJ9/pseuds/anger_ieJ9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But I'll never be the same until I discover what became of my old flame. </p>
<p>(a pre-/mid-catws of Steve being comfortable in his sexuality and dwelling on the past simultaneously)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven't Met a Gent so Magnificent or Elegant

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one while listening to My Old Flame performed by Billie Holiday on repeat.

Steve stood on the sidewalk and waited until she got the key in the lock and light leaked out from the door frame. She turned and waggled her fingers at him, and he waved back before he turned and started down the street. She had suggested it, but he didn't think he was going to call her tomorrow. 

There wasn't anything wrong with her. She was smart and cute, and her laugh was great. She didn't make a big deal out of the whole "I learned about you in elementary school, I can't believe we're having dinner together" thing, and Natasha had introduced them, which came as a commendation all by itself. But, it just wasn't- It wasn't her fault- just that her eyes were brown and her hair was blonde and she was sincere and kind and not snarky at all. And Steve had this ghost in his head and his heart that he haunted. 

Tony had been a nice date: that first "trying to make a good impression" date, where he tried too hard and fidgeted too much and spent too much money because he was so nervous. And Pepper tried to subtly calm him down with her eyebrows and a hand under the table, but Tony only got himself back to normal when Steve commented on it. Tony called him "salty" and then they were back to their usual verbal aggression, and Steve'd had a blast. And he'd walked them home, and they'd invited him upstairs, and he left in the morning with his jacket zipped up because his shirt was missing buttons. 

It had been fun, and Tony was certainly snarky, but even after that night, there was no caress or touch that wasn't muffled by hesitation. Tony showed affection like a panicked cat - not wanting to be coddled, but not wanting you to leave. Pepper was patient, had to be given the circumstances, and beautiful and sharp as a whip, but she even when she was ribbing him she was gentle about it and never said something that might hurt his feelings. Every time they got together, it felt like they had a script prepared and were working through their lines. Perfectly played, but played nonetheless. 

Natasha was - well, he had considered it, but vetoed it almost in the same thought. He had seen her staring before, but who was to say what that meant? Maybe she liked the way he looked, maybe she was searching for weak spots. She had a sense of humor like the little blade in her ankle boot: always there but you wouldn't see it until she cut you with it. He liked that. All the words you could use to describe her body were soft words, but all the words to describe her mind, her spirit, her will those were all hard words. Thick words, like the walls of Jericho, and Steve just wanted someone he could talk to, straight, and they would talk back, straight. He never once heard Natasha say something he couldn't get two meanings out of. She was a good friend, but she couldn't be his lover.

He considered Phil; age difference wasn't an issue, and honestly who was the oldest person in the building, anyway? Steve, himself, he figured; so that wasn't an issue. But if Fury was SHIELD's brain, the Phil was the backbone. And Phil saw The Captain before he saw Steve Rogers, and Steve doubted he ever saw The Little Guy from Brooklyn. 

There was a waitress at his favorite deli. She made jokes about him and everything else being old fashioned or too modern, but she never called him Sir or Captain. He took her out to Italian, and she blushed while they ordered and every time he smiled at her. Then one then three then a crowd of people were asking for pictures, selfies, and autographs, and she sat quietly and watched and didn't call him the next day. 

Then Natasha set him up with a guy from accounting. He wore a tie on their first date, and his glasses were big and his smile was soft. He was adorable, and he had no idea. There was none of the confident swagger (even if it was lie - Steve and God had been the only ones to know it was a lie) and smooth talking and sweet words flowing like fountain. He "uhm"ed and "uh"ed and apologized a lot, and Steve smiled every time and kissed him good night. When he called the next day, Cory had sounded surprised and delighted, but they only lasted three weeks before Steve got called out on duty, and it slowly went downhill from there. 

Clint wasn't someone you dated. He wasn't a lover; he loved for as long as he was there, but then he left and loved somewhere else. But Jesus, did he love. They had been hanging out, watching a movie and eating pizza when Clint had taken his last bite, burped, and said, "So, are we doing this or nah?" And Steve had kissed him. "This is gonna be so great, man," Clint had promised, or maybe just speculated based on the kiss, "I was in the circus, you know. You're never gonna forget this." Steve had challenged him to prove it, and so far it had been true. It was fantastic, but Steve had had better. In the tub for a quick rinse before his ma got home; on their one mattress they shared, beneath the blankets so he wouldn't catch sick again; in a tent at the asscrack of dawn surrounded by sleeping soldiers while they gagged on each other. The things he'd done, being with Clint felt like an imitation. But still, somewhere on the top ten list. 

And then there had been Sam. Post-military, handsome, funny, confident, kind but honest, and Steve felt something stir like it hadn't for anyone since... Their dates were friendly and casual and the sex was anything but. Sam was his running partner, his friend, his confidant, his lover. Steve looked forward to seeing him, to talking on the phone when they couldn't get together. He texted so much he started using emojis and including attachments. Steve wanted to be in love with Sam. He tried to with everything in him. He imagined his life with Sam beside him, like the couples he'd see walking around holding hands and kissing each other's cheeks- with dogs or children and mortgages- and it left a hollow place in him. He saw blue eyes in his mind that made his stomach wilt with guilt. So, he tried to love Sam, but he hated himself for it. As if Sam would stand for that sort of thing. 

So here he was, dropping his date home: one failure in a line so long the details blurred together. He climbed on his motorcycle and started for home. Why couldn't he get this to work? "This" being dating. "This" being his heart. "This" being himself. What was wrong with him? Because there hadn't been any problems with anyone else. But just like he had told Peggy, he was looking for the right partner. He'd had the right partner; he knew exactly what he was looking for, and none of them were it. 

Bucky with his hair slicked back and his best, second-hand suit, looking like a million bucks on the arm of some girl who laughed at everything he said and pretend to be shy. Steve had had to watch him dance with them; wear himself out dancing with them, and it was hard sometimes, but Steve knew where Bucky would be sleeping that night. Who he would be talking sweet to while they necked and petted and then fell asleep. Bucky may be fooling Mary Ann and Rosalie and Carolyn, but he wasn't fooling Steve. He never could, just like Steve could never fool him. "Yeah," Bucky’d said "Because you've got nothing to prove." That was their last conversation before Bucky'd left for the War, and even then he didn't pull his punches, but he was honest because he loved so much, and Steve had been hurting but he never begrudged him that. 

And during the War, while they fought together. They were friends, brothers, lovers, and comrades. They shared everything. They were each their own person, but they shared each other- they were parts of each other mixed together. Bucky's laugh filled him like a fireplace, and Bucky's touch sustained him like his regular meals. Bucky was sweet and gentle and smart and hard and snarky and funny and mean and sexy and gentle and sad and a proper gentleman with a filthy mouth. He was every good word Steve knew and a good amount of the bad ones, too. 

He parked his bike and climbed the stairs, and chatted with his neighbor The Nurse. She was friendly and pretty, and maybe Steve was more of an optimist than he thought. But she turned him down, and he knew a gentle "no" when he heard one - a "not right now" at best. "I think you left your radio on when you left this morning," she said, and when Steve crept in to his apartment, he found Nick Fury sitting in the dark to tell him SHIELD was compromised before dying.


End file.
